


A Cup of Coffee, a Book of Poetry, and...

by Suspicious_Popsicle



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluri, M/M, occupation bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspicious_Popsicle/pseuds/Suspicious_Popsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Flynn works at a bookstore, has an overactive imagination, and is visited by Yuri bearing baked goods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cup of Coffee, a Book of Poetry, and...

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: I posted this on tumblr a little while back and I still really like it, actually. Couldn’t tell you why exactly, but I do, so here it is. Apologies to the people who follow me here and on tumblr and are now getting an alert for a story they’ve already read. I did make a few very minor edits, though.   
> I reference a couple poems in this one, the main one being William Butler Yeats’ “Leda and the Swan” and the second being the _Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam_.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

The bell over the door to Knightsbridge Used Books jingled, the sound festive and merry so close to the holidays. Flynn didn’t bother coming down from where he sat reading atop the shop ladder. Most of his late night customers were regulars, and he wasn’t so far from the front that he wouldn’t be found in no time should someone require his help. He was just finishing “Leda and the Swan” when a familiar voice spoke up from behind him.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, get down here and sign this invoice.”

Yuri’s voice was low and amused, granted a seeming of intimacy by the quiet of the store and the soft, amber lights illuminating the stacks. The sound of it sent a shiver down Flynn’s spine after the verses he’d just read: images of pale thighs parting and the palpable feeling of a heart beating in a chest pressed against his own. He shook off such thoughts, or tried to, at any rate. Those lines had been fantasy, and not of a particularly desirable kind. Damn Yeats anyway for not having imbued the act described with its due brutality. There’d been far too much sensuality involved, and now he was having to cope with fragments of exciting images: Yuri draped in white and writhing beneath him, Flynn’s teeth dimpling that pale neck.

He took a moment to collect himself, feigning interest in the troublesome pages as if he hadn’t yet finished, then closing the book and slotting it carefully back into place.

“I think that name is better suited to you than to me,” he said. He sounded normal and not at all interested in finding out what would happen should he climb down the ladder and pin Yuri against the bookshelf, press close for a kiss, slip a hand into his clothes to feel him, skin-to-skin. He wondered if Yuri would push him away or urge him on.

“Pretty sure she was blond,” Yuri was saying. “Besides, you’re the one up in a tower.”

“Hardly.”

Leda would look like Yuri, he thought, all big gray eyes and long black hair. She took on that aspect in his mind, now sexless but still alluring, one moment yearning, the next, warding off unwanted advances. Flynn suspected that, if Leda had shared any of Yuri’s personality traits, Zeus would have come out the worse for his crime.

Glancing down, he took in Yuri who stood, hands on his hips, smiling up at him. Out of Flynn’s teasing imagination, he looked far less swan-like and wanton and more as if he ought to be perching somewhere cawing: “Nevermore!” He wore black, from his boots and jeans, to his padded coat and canvas apron. The only reason his bulky sweater wasn’t black as well was because age and numerous washings had faded it. His eyes were the only bright things about him, and they twinkled warmly.

“Nice sweater,” he said.

Reflexively, Flynn looked down at his own clothes: khakis, a white turtleneck, and a red sweater featuring a cartoonish reindeer with Christmas lights tangled around its antlers.

“It’s seasonally appropriate.”

“Sure. Who’d you lose a bet to, to have to wear that thing?”

He couldn’t help smiling. “It was a gift from my aunt. I’m just glad she didn’t expect me to wear the antlers.”

Yuri pulled a face. “Jeeze. I thought she _wanted_ you to find a girlfriend.”

Something tightened in Flynn’s stomach at the easy way Yuri had said that. He changed the subject.

“How’s Repede?”

“Fine. I keep trying to explain why he can’t ride along with me on my deliveries, but he doesn’t understand.”

For as long as Flynn had known him, Yuri had always talked about—even to—Repede that way, as if he were another person. It was a strange quirk that had become familiar over the years, and Flynn couldn’t help smiling over it as he stood and stepped down the ladder.

Yuri handed him the invoice to look over on their way to the front. The boxes of pastries from Granny’s Kitchen were stacked on the front counter, and Flynn checked through them quickly, feeling a little awkward, because he was certain that Yuri would never short him, but until he owned the shop, he still had to follow procedure. Everything was accounted for, of course, and he signed off and went to file his copy of the receipt, pretending not to notice that Yuri had rested his elbows on the counter and was smiling at him.

“Sure you don’t mind these late deliveries? Most of my other customers want their stuff first thing in the morning.”

“It’s fresh, right?”

“Baked this afternoon, just for you.”

“It’s fine, then. We don’t even start getting busy until mid afternoon. Besides, our late night regulars enjoy the treat.” He nodded toward the reading area where half a dozen people were sitting, immersed in books or chatting quietly. “In fact, if you want to set all that up, I’ll go let them know that the snacks have arrived.”

As Flynn stepped back, Yuri slipped behind the counter to begin arranging the cookies, muffins, and slices of pound cake on the glass-topped dessert pedestals. For a few seconds, Flynn watched him work. He wondered what Yuri would say if he asked him out. Though Yeats’ imagery seemed to have left him, he wasn’t free of the urge to step up behind Yuri and wrap his arms around him. He’d caught a whiff of shampoo when Yuri had come around to set out the pastries, something sweet and indefinable. He wanted to bury his face against that hair and breathe deep.

Instead, he went to let his regulars know that they could come satisfy their sweet tooth. Most of them followed him back over, and he spent a few minutes making coffee and running the register, which helped him keep his thoughts under control, despite the fact that Yuri was standing right next to him, smiling and laughing and talking and, every now and again, carelessly brushing up against him.

As soon as Flynn had handed over the last bit of change, Yuri took a quick step behind him, settling his hands heavily on Flynn’s shoulders. The unexpected touch excited him all over again, made him think of dark bedrooms and gasping breaths and the rustle of sheets. He tried to clamp down on such thoughts, but it was difficult when Yuri crowded in close to murmur in his ear.

“I’ve got samples out in the truck. Be right back.”

The pressure of his hands was suddenly gone, replaced by a chill that Flynn shouldn’t have felt between his layers of clothing and the cozy temperature of the store. He waited until Yuri was safely out of sight on the street before rubbing his ear, still feeling the tickle of warm breath like feathers against his skin.

Leda was back, but she’d taken on some of Zeus’ aspect as well and now bore wings for arms. She smirked at him with Yuri’s face, pinions outstretched like fingertips.

Honestly. There hadn’t been any need for Yuri to have told him like that. Flynn kept glancing at the door, hoping he wouldn’t be obviously flustered when Yuri returned. His deviant imagination needed little provocation where Yuri was concerned, however, and it only seemed to be getting worse as time went on.

Needing any sort of distraction, he busied himself making each of them a cup of coffee. Yuri took so much sugar in his that Flynn had actually been considering buying a sugar bowl purely for his use. The amount of paper wasted from the number of packets it took to satisfy him was disgraceful.

A third jingle of the bell, and Yuri was back with a little white box just for the two of them. He brought it behind the counter and quickly named off the new muffins and cookies for Flynn before taking a step back to watch him try them all.

Though he’d never been all that fond of sweets, Flynn had somehow gotten into the habit of trying out any new pastries Yuri brought by. No, not somehow. There wasn’t any use even trying to deny that it had nothing to do with enjoying the food or wanting to be sure customers would like it. His willingness to taste test new recipes was entirely a result of Yuri and his bright eyes and the way he focused so intently on Flynn. He looked forward to Granny’s new treats not for the baked goods, but for the attention.

However, he couldn’t help wondering if he was special, or if all Yuri’s customers were invited to taste the new delights. As Yuri watched him take a bite out of a cookie, he very much hoped that he was special.

When he’d tried a little of everything and given his approval, Yuri grinned and grabbed the box off the countertop. He took it and his coffee and sat down with his back against the counter, smiling up at Flynn as they talked. They argued about what movie adaptations stayed truest to their books and talked vaguely of holiday plans. Yuri had none, as usual, but he had always been cagey about the situation with his family and Flynn didn’t press him. They relaxed and sipped coffee and Yuri polished off the samples from the box as the shop slowly emptied out.

It was almost time to pull the register when Yuri’s phone went off. He pulled it out and answered, shooting Flynn an apologetic smile.

“Hey, Judy. What’s up?” His smile faded suddenly away and he sagged against the counter. “What, again? How long ago? … Yeah, all right. I’ll head back now. See you.”

He hung up and picked himself up off the floor. “I gotta run. See you in a couple days.”

“Wait. Is something wrong?” He felt stupid even asking. Of course something was wrong; that half of a conversation had made it painfully obvious.

Yuri’s smile was crooked. “The boiler’s out again. Looks like my whole building’s in for a cold one.”

“You could stay with me.” The words came rushing out so fast that they pulled Flynn along with them, a step closer to Yuri, his hand outstretched in offer or explanation. “I mean, it’s already freezing, and you wouldn’t have to go back out….” He trailed off, falling silent under Yuri’s widening smile.

“Thanks for the offer, but I can’t just leave Repede alone.” He started to turn away again.

“We can go pick him up.” What was he saying? He sounded desperate. But he and Yuri were friends, more or less. Wasn’t it all right to offer him a warm place to sleep for a night? Flynn lived alone in the apartment above the bookstore. They wouldn’t be inconveniencing anyone, but with just the two of them….

Those bright gray eyes were studying him now, reading intention from his words and expression. He felt laid bare before those eyes. Yuri had to know what Flynn had been thinking, if not his exact thoughts, then at least the nature of where they led. He waited for a rejection that didn’t come. Instead, Yuri cocked his head to the side.

“You really don’t mind?”

“No. Not at all. Just let me get closed up, and I’ll drive us over.”

“Thanks.”

\------------------

They always ended up here when Yuri came up.

Humming deep in his throat, the sound inviting and arousing, Yuri pressed himself more fully against Flynn, currently trapped against the bedroom door. He was all need and searching hands, and his urgency leapt between them like heat lightning in the clouds, leaving Flynn charged and clutching. They scrabbled to get him out of his layers. Yuri was already naked to the waist.

He wanted to hear more of Yuri’s voice, stripped of its usual composure by the desire that was quickly leaving both of them short of breath and lightheaded. Hasty kisses down Yuri’s neck freed up his mouth, but he only gasped, quietly, and it wasn’t enough. Quick as a thought, Flynn bit down on the flesh at the crook of his neck. With a sharp groan, Yuri rocked solidly into him and then calmed, rolling his hips against Flynn’s in a steady rhythm of gentle thrusts. His skin was soft as floured dough and salty-sweet. Flynn felt the beat of Yuri’s heart beside his own, and thought of a girl held in check by a bill at her throat.

Yuri didn’t drop when Flynn eased his teeth from the indentations they’d left in his skin. He didn’t pull away or even slow the pass of his hands over Flynn’s body. He kneaded the flesh low on Flynn’s back, pulled pleadingly at the waist of his pants. Even still, even as eager as Yuri was, even knowing they’d done this before and would again without promise or design, he found that his attention was caught by Yuri’s neck. He licked at the little wound, kissed it, tasted his way back up, forcing Yuri’s head back, baring his throat and letting his teeth graze ever so softly over the bob of his Adam’s apple.

The clumsiness of haste made Yuri’s touches feel as if they trembled. The brush of his hair was feathers over Flynn’s skin. Yuri pulled away and Flynn chased him, mouth seeking out that elegant, white neck. He bore Yuri down onto the bed. Yuri’s hands were frantic between them—the remains of their clothing had to go. Thighs parted, legs wrapped around him, trapping him there with his actions and his fleeting thoughts, and still his lips found Yuri’s neck, his teeth marked him there, bound him though Yuri wouldn’t be bound, was the one who held Flynn in thrall. They made love on the white sheets, and Yuri writhed beneath him, holding him close and shouting his name as Flynn savored the vibrations against his tongue.

\--------------------

The next morning, Yuri pulled on yesterday’s clothes and studied himself briefly in the bathroom mirror. He joked about needing a turtleneck, told Flynn he’d see him the next day and that he could expect some of the new items, and saw himself and Repede out.

Flynn hadn’t even gotten out of bed before he found himself alone again.

He made breakfast on autopilot. He didn’t want to think about the little aches and stinging scratches, didn’t want to think about how Yuri never stayed for long, not even always overnight, or how he never acted any different when he saw Flynn in the shop. He didn’t want to think about how maybe that was important, that part of their work required that they interact and it was safer to keep such things as last night in a neat little box, to prevent them from spilling out into the world should they go sour. He didn’t want to think about how he wanted Yuri, about how could have him for a night, but didn’t have his heart, and he didn’t want to think about when that had become something important to him.

The apartment still smelled faintly of dog, and he knew that if he went back to bed, his sheets would carry a faint sweet scent beneath the odor of sweat and sex. He only ever seemed to want sweet things in relation to Yuri.

He sat down with a cup of coffee, and a piece of slightly burnt toast. There was a book on his table, a sci-fi novel he was halfway through, and he smiled a little, recalling a different work.

‘Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,  
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou’

The chair across from him was empty. Tomorrow he would stop hesitating. When Yuri came to make his delivery, Flynn would invite him up for the evening, for breakfast, and for something more.


End file.
